Things That Make A Life

The youngest sent me a text earlier this evening that simply stated,

I've cracked open the cedar chest.

I read her words out loud to the husband as he was driving us home. Don't get sucked in, was his reply. When I walked in the door and saw photo albums strewn about, I tried my best to walk away. I changed my clothes, thought about how inviting the bed looked, pondered the laundry still in the dryer, and finally gave up all those thoughts of nonsense and found an empty spot on the floor.

Who was I kidding anyway?

I looked through one photo album after another and periodically removed my glasses so I could have a closer look. I must have been looking rather intently at one particular picture because that know-it-all of a husband quietly remarked, You know you were there for all that, right? Duh. Yeah. Of course... but where did that time go?

My life in a cedar chest.

Baby pictures of me. Baby pictures of our babies. My old Girl Scout sash. My favorite book as a young girl. My first pair of glasses from the fourth grade. Baby dolls and baby clothes. Notes my mom wrote me. Cards my dad gave me. My high school graduation cap and gown. Yearbooks. A glass piggy bank my grandpa gave me. A musical piano my brother gave me. The bride and groom topper from our wedding cake. Basic training certificates. Handmade gifts. The list goes on and on.

That baby of ours, the one that will turn the rather grown-up age of eighteen tomorrow, handed me a small manuscript in a clear kind of report cover you can buy at any Walmart and said, Mom, you may never be famous, but you sure can write good (or something to that effect). I took what she had and immediately recognized it as something I wrote many years ago about the struggles of being a fairly new wife and a young mother to three kids under the age of five. She said she sorta skimmed through it and was asking my permission to read it in its entirety. I said yes while at the same time hoping there was nothing in there that would scare her silly. After all, reality is always so much more frightening than any work of fiction.

I know we don't take anything with us when we leave this world, but what we leave this world can do more than just collect dust. After all, somewhere along the way there will be someone who will knock off that dust and discover a life.

And when they see mine, I hope they see a life well lived.